Of course there was, in the first place, the immense expectation of fortune which you gave me, and which I'm afraid I've more than lived up to. And then, of course, others shared my expectations. It wasn't a thing one could very well keep to oneself. My mother and my sister--especially my sister--they were wonderfully excited about it. You are quite the hero in their eyes.
And then--you remember that talk we had, in which you said I could help you--socially, you know. I did it a little, just as a start, but of course there's no end to what could be done. You've been too busy heretofore, but we can begin now whenever you like. I don't mind telling you--I've had some thoughts of a possible marriage for you.
In point of blood and connections it would be such a match as a commoner hasn't made before in my memory--a highly-cultivated and highly-bred young lady of rank--and settlements could be made so that a considerable quantity of land would eventually come to your son. I needn't tell you that land stands for much more than money, if you happen to set your mind on a baronetcy or a peerage.
Of course--I need scarcely say--I mention this marriage only as something which may or may not attract you,--it is quite open to you to prefer another,--but there is hardly anything of that sort in which I and my connections could not be of use to you."Even more by the tone and inflection of these words than by the phrases themselves, Thorpe divined that he was being offered the hand of the Hon. Winifred Plowden in marriage.
He recalled vividly the fact that once the shadow of some such thought had floated through his own brain;there had been a moment--it seemed curiously remote, like a dream-phantom from some previous state of existence--when he had dwelt with personal interest upon her inheritance from long lines of noblemen, and her relation to half the peerage. Then, swiftly, illogically, he disliked the brother of this lady more than ever.
"All that is talking in the air," he said, with abrupt decision. "I see nothing in it. You shall have your vendor's shares, precisely as I promised you.
I don't see how you can possibly ask for anything more."He looked at the other's darkling face for a moment, and then rose with unwieldy deliberation. "If you're so hard up though," he continued, coldly, "I don't mind doing this much for you. I'll exchange the thousand vendor's shares you already hold the ones I gave you to qualify you at the beginning--for ordinary shares.
You can sell those for fifteen thousand pounds cash.
In fact, I'll buy them of you now. I'll give you a cheque for the amount. Do you want it?"Lord Plowden, red-faced and frowning, hesitated for a fraction of time. Then in constrained silence he nodded, and Thorpe, leaning ponderously over the desk, wrote out the cheque. His Lordship took it, folded it up, and put it in his pocket without immediate comment.
"Then this is the end of things, is it?" he asked, after an awkward silence, in a voice he strove in vain to keep from shaking.
"What things?" said the other.
Plowden shrugged his shoulders, framed his lips to utter something which he decided not to say, and at last turned on his heel. "Good day," he called out over his shoulder, and left the room with a flagrant air of hostility.
Thorpe, wandering about the apartment, stopped after a time at the cabinet, and helped himself to a drink.
The thing most apparent to him was that of set purpose he had converted a friend into an enemy. Why had he done this? He asked himself the question in varying forms, over his brandy and soda, but no convincing answer came.
He had done it because he had felt like doing it. It was impossible to trace motives further than that.
